Читать книгу Hobgoblin and the Seven Stinkers of Rancidia - Kyle Sullivan - Страница 20

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by repeating what he called his “smell-empowerment mantra”:

“I smell worse than garbage, I smell like the sewer, I smell worse than garbage, I smell like the sewer…”

Taking this as his cue to leave, the Burping Bullfrog gave a bow, backed into his hole in the wall, and silently closed his little door.

The mantra had worked: Fiddlefart calmed down enough to take action. Or at least enough to order someone else to take action.

He trampled through garbage to the chamber door, opened it halfway, and screamed through the crack: “Huntress!!”

Promptly, as if she had been lurking only feet from the door, a squirrel wearing a hooded cloak and a wooden mask entered the chamber. She had a bushy chestnut tail and smelled of cinnamon. She came armed with a crossbow, a scrub brush, and a steely expression.

She stood there quietly as Fiddlefart, with his back to the squirrel, sprayed himself with an aerosol can labeled SHARK FARTS.

“Yes, Your Disgustingness,” she said, her watchful eyes aimed at the king.